


Fix Me or Conflict Me

by darklordriddle (marauderswagger)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Soft Tom Riddle, Tumblr Prompt, soft tomione, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauderswagger/pseuds/darklordriddle
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one-shots from my Tumblr, usually from prompts. Featuring Soft!Tomione and Soft!Tom in general.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! I've decided to post the drabbles and one-shots from my Tumblr page on here. Most are from prompts.   
> Fair warning, there will be soft!Tom and Tom that adores Hermione, so if that isn't your cup of tea, feel free to ditch out.   
> You can leave prompts for me in the comments or at my tumblr @darklordriddle and I'll answer them ASAP :)

Tumblr Prompt: Can you write a soft Tomione story? Please?

* * *

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Hermione froze, arm half outstretched, just centimeters away from Tom’s abdomen. 

“I thought you were reading your book,” She mumbled, dropping her arm and smiling sheepishly. 

“I’m trying to, really,” He said, dark eyebrow raised as he peeked over his book to send her a questioning look, “But you’re up to something.” 

“I just wanted to see if you were ticklish. An innocent endeavor.” 

“I’ll save you the energy, then—I’m not. You can resume whatever you were doing before.” He returned his attention to his book, rearranging himself on their shared four-poster bed so he was slightly further away from her than before. She did her best to not be distracted by his bare upper-body; he often slept in only his pajama pants, leaving her free to stare blankly at his chest in awe. 

“Your immediate denial makes me question your honesty,” She laughed, scooting closer towards him once more, closing the distance between the pair. “If you’re so certain it won’t bother you, then I should be able to try without you being affected.” 

“Hermione, don’t you _dare_ —”

But she had already honed in on his bare abdomen, running her fingers gently but adamantly at his side. 

He slapped her hand away, jumping up from the bed and brandishing his book in his defense. 

“I thought you weren’t ticklish!” She repeated, slowly standing up from the bed and following him to his side. 

“I’m not. Stay away from me, witch.” 

“Just let me try—” She lunged forward, grabbing onto him and knocking him backwards onto the bed, straddling his hips as she began viciously rubbing up and down his sides and along his pantline. 

He struggled against her, attempting to buck her off of him, as he huffed out restrained laughter. “Hermione, I swear to all things holy, I will _strangle_ you—”

“You wouldn’t harm a hair on my precious head,” She snorted, having the wind knocked out of her as Tom flipped her over, now staring down at her with a rather menacing look on his face. 

“Don’t flaunt my obvious weakness for you,” He grunted, pinning her arms down above her head and smiling triumphantly. “Now, what am I going to do with you? How can I punish you properly for your sins?”

“My sins?” Hermione laughed, blowing her curly hair out of her face to the best of her abilities. She squirmed underneath him, looking for anyway she could breach the security of his hold, but to no avail. “Oh, however can I atone, my Lord?”

“I can think of a few ways.” He looked at her suggestively as he slowly lowered his head to hers, stopping just before his lips touched hers. “Can you think of anything, Hermione?” He breathed, breath washing over her face and overwhelming her with the scent of cinnamon. 

“I’d do better showing you rather than telling you,” She whispered, fighting back a grin as his eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“By all means, Miss Granger, don’t let me stop you.”

He released her hands, leaning back on his knees to allow her room to operate, only to find himself cursing as she tackled him and began tickling him anew. 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you're taking prompts/requests may I submit for your consideration the fan favorite trope that is (stadium announcer voice) quidditch player Tom?"

“I can’t believe we lost,” Tom snarled, ripping his quidditch jersey over his head and throwing it onto the ground at Hermione’s feet, a sour look permanently etched onto his otherwise pretty face.

“It happens, Tom,” Hermione sighed, bending down and grabbing his jersey, following behind him as he stormed off towards the castle. She fought to ignore the way the muscles on his back flexed with each movement, pale and beautiful. 

“‘Mione! Where are you going?” A voice called out from behind her. She turned and waved at Harry, pointing towards Tom and sending him a thumbs down signal. Harry laughed jovially, and she cringed at the sound, knowing Tom would hear.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Tom called over his shoulder, continuing his march towards the castle, refusing to hesitate for a moment. She knew how hot-headed he could be when it came to quidditch, and she was thankful for his determination to get away from the pitch. Tom and Harry had never gotten into a fight before, but were bitter rivals, and she always worried something would happen between the two of them and they’d end up in the infirmary or detention. 

It was hard being best friends with Harry and being Tom’s girlfriend. It was a constant battle of who she would pay attention to at the moment, but she was certain Harry would understand her reasoning to forgo the celebration and stick with the moping Tom instead.

She rushed forward, panting, trying to catch up to the quick-footed boy. 

“Tom, wait up,” She groaned, hating any form of exercise that existed. 

He sighed, pausing only momentarily for her to catch up, before continuing again, jogging up the steps of the castle and making her audibly pant. 

“Can’t believe he caught the snitch before I could. Absolute bullshit.” He complained, mostly to himself, as the pair headed towards the Heads’ dormitory.

“Like I said, Tom. It happens.”

He shot her a dirty look as the portrait opened, allowing her to enter first before slamming it shut behind them. 

“You need to calm down, Tom,” She murmured, placing her hand on his bare chest and blinking up at him. She took note of his heartbeat, thumping rapidly, and sighed. “It’s over. You’ll get them next time.”

“You’re damn right I will,” He growled, raking his hand through his sweaty hair, making it even more disheveled than it was before from the constant onslaught of wind. “I know you love Harry, but I’m going to murder him next match.” 

“A gentler choice of words, perhaps?” She said, shaking her head. 

He let out a restrained laugh, clearly not happy he was laughing in the first place, and dropped a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m going to gently maim him next match. Is that better?”

“I don’t think you can maim anyone gently, but I suppose you can try,” She hummed, shoving her head into his chest and wrapping her arms around him. He smelled of books and sweat, a combination she never would think to find appealing but burrowed into it nonetheless.

He sighed, enveloping her in his hold and resting his head upon hers. 

“I got a little worked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a bit. It’s okay, I can forgive your violent mood swings.” 

He snorted, pushing her back gently and tilting her head up to look her in the eyes.

“Want to take a shower with me? I could use a distraction.”

“Well, you could certainly use a bath—”

He flicked her nose and she laughed, a light tinkling noise that he always seemed to soften at.

“But yes. I’ll join you, and maybe get around to cheering you up a bit.”

“It’ll take quite a lot,” He sniffed, feigning weakness, “I was quite brutally defeated, you know.”

“Oh, the poor Quidditch captain couldn’t find a miniscule golden ball in the air. However will he recover?”

“Hopefully with many kisses. Among other things.”

Tom winked at her and she shoved him, heading towards their shared lavatory, pulling her jumper over her head and hearing a sharp intake of breath behind her.

She always knew how to cheer him up after a Quidditch match.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tom’s missing all of his sweaters and finds them at Hermione’s flat.”

“It’s rather cold to be without a jumper, Tom,” Hermione pointed out as she opened the door to her flat, moving back to let him in.

“Yes, I’d say it is,” He grunted, shivering slightly but declining to acknowledge it. He refused to let her see that he was impacted by the weather, no matter how bloody well freezing it was outside. He wasn’t one to complain so openly, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Tom took a moment to take in the small apartment, with comfy, worn out furniture covered in cat fur and books scattered about. He also took in his girlfriend, her small frame expertly covered by an emerald jumper three sizes too big for her, the fabric completely encompassing her body and sleeves rolling down over her hands.

That was where one of them was, then.

“Do you have any extras of my jumpers? I can’t seem to find any of them at home,” He asked in an accusatory tone, idly searching the flat to see if any were laying around.

“I might have a few,” Hermione said, staring up at him with large, brown, innocent eyes. “But you’re certain you don’t have any at home? You should keep up with your laundry.”

“I do,” He huffed, indignant, as though he were ever a messy person to begin with. His flat was in pristine condition, never the book out of place, with completely new furniture that looked like it just arrived from the showroom floor despite having been in his flat for going on five years.

He liked to keep things neat and tidy—the opposite of Hermione, who felt everything had a place, but never where it was expected to be. “Mind if I check your closet?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” She squeaked, rushing ahead of him as he headed towards her bedroom. “I’ll check for you. You go into the kitchen and start some tea. I know you’re freezing.”

“I’ll be warmer when I find a jumper.” He continued forward to her closet, pushing piles of clothes out of the way through his endeavor, until he managed to pry open the closet doors. 

“It’s not what it looks like!” Hermione blurted before he had looked inside, trying and barely succeeding to push past him to block his line of sight.  
“Surely I don’t know what you mean,” He said, exasperated. “Please move.”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’ as she said it, rocking back and forth on her heels. “My home, my rules.”

“Alright, then,” He huffed, grabbing onto her upper arms and lifting her out of the way, setting her behind him. A string of curses left his lips as he peered into her practically overflowing closet.

Inside was an array of jumpers, varying from shades of emerald to blue, blue to black, all far too big to fit Hermione properly.

“Bloody hell, Hermione.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and counting backwards from ten.

“I told you not to look!”

“I’ll be taking them back, you know,” He sighed, leafing through them until finding a light blue that complimented his pale skin and pulling it over his head, mussing his hair and annoying him further. 

“Or you can let me keep them.” 

“I need clothes, Hermione. I don’t very well enjoy walking around in a t-shirt in the winter.”

“How about a compromise, then?”

He rolled his eyes, knowing how her compromises worked, often in her favour rather than his. 

“Go on.”

“How about I keep your jumpers—”

“Absolutely not.”

“—I’m not finished! I keep your jumpers, and you bring the rest of your stuff over. Permanently.” 

“Are you asking me to move in with you, Granger?” He asked, moving closer to her and crowding her space with his large body.

“I suppose you could say that. If you’re agreeable.” 

“Oh, I’m agreeable,” Tom said, bending down to place his lips gently against hers, pulling back momentarily to whisper in her ear. “But you’ll be moving in with me.”

“I can be persuaded,” She said casually, blinking up at him with her honey-coloured eyes, lashes fluttering. 

He threw his head back and laughed loudly, genuinely, as he would always find himself doing in her presence. 

“I’ll be glad to persuade you.”


End file.
